


How Many Times (Cry Out)

by Rysler



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Iron Fist Season 2 Spoilers, Jessica Jones (TV) Spoilers, Post-Canon Fix-It, The Defenders (Marvel TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/pseuds/Rysler
Summary: It had been six months without Trish. Six months of hell, of being alone in the world. Orphaned. It was hard to keep going. Hard, as ever, to keep caring. Without even Dorothy around to swat her and shame her. Only the demons in her head, Killgrave and Salinger, kept pushing her to help the city. One meth addict or car thief at a time.





	How Many Times (Cry Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Fix-it fic for the end of Season Three.

“How many times have you heard me cry out  
‘God please take this?’  
How many times have you given me strength to  
Just keep breathing?  
Oh I need you  
God, I need you now.”  
\- Plumb

**Chapter One**

It started with Gillian lightly tapping Jessica on the shoulder. “Wake up.”

Jessica groaned and opened one eye. She was face down on the orange couch. “Don’t you leave at five?”

“It’s three in the afternoon. Oscar’s here to see you.”

“Mmpf.”

“He says it’s urgent. Well, it might be. He’s not sure.”

“Fine.” Jessica forced herself into a sitting position. She opened the other eye. Daylight came through the windows.

Gillian pushed a drink into her hand. A clear drink.

“What the hell is this?”

“Gin and tonic. I thought I’d mix it up,” Gillian said.

Jessica glared.

“Oscar,” Gillian said.

Jessica took a sip. Jesus Christ, it was bitter. “Let him in.”

Oscar must have heard, because he came through the door and closed it behind him. Malcolm, who was at Jessica’s desk, waved Oscar into a chair.

“Long time no see,” Jessica growled, and then took another sip. To Gillian she said, “Never again.”

“It’s more hydrating.”

“And I won’t get malaria. What’s up, Oscar?”

“It’s 10C,” he said, taking a deep breath, and then verbally diarrheaing all over her office. “I think they’re building a bomb, or something worse. I went in to fix their toilet and there was a lot of shiny steel everywhere, covered up with a bedsheet. They noticed me looking, and said it was just a bitcoin server farm, but the power bills are normal. I checked.”

Malcolm tapped at his computer.

Jessica finished off the drink. “When?”

“A week ago.”

“Jesus, Oscar.”

“I know. But I told myself it was nothing. I dug around a little. And I don’t think it’s nothing.” He handed Malcolm a cut-out article from the Daily Bugle.

“Electric Bomb Goes Off in Meat-Packing Plant, Causing Carnage.”

“A test run,” Oscar said.

Gillian put a proper bourbon into Jessica’s hand, and then sat beside her on the couch, which Jessica huffed at.

“Who are they?” Jessica asked.

“Mohammed Jamshidi.”

“Fuck. Is that why you wanted it to be nothing?” Jessica asked.

“Don’t you?”

“I’ll look into it. Thank you, Oscar.”

He nodded and got up. “I’ll see you, uh, around. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Sure.”

Oscar left, once again being gentle with the door.

Malcolm got up. “I’ll put cameras in their apartment. The equipment’s at my place.”

Jessica waved her drink at him.

Once Malcolm had left, Gillian shifted to face Jessica on the couch. “You have nightmares.”

“Yeah, what of it?” Jessica drank some bourbon and looked out the window.

“After all that shit went down with, with Salinger, I feel like I can ask some personal questions.”

“I have nightmares. Of Killgrave. Of Killgrave and Trish. He took her hostage, once.”

“That’s pretty shitty,” Gillian said.

“Yeah.”

Gillian got up. “I’ve got a lead on that Grandparent Scam. Costa said if we find out where they stash their winnings, we get to keep half.”

“Good work. You don’t think it’s wired off-shore?”

Gillian shook her head. “This one’s local. Should keep us in booze and fancy surveillance equipment for a while.”

“Great. We should probably return it to the victims.”

“The ones we know of, sure. Otherwise, the greater good,” Gillian said.

Jessica drew her knees up to her chest on the couch and brooded.

Gillian shuffled papers for a while, and then left, saying she’d be back with food later.

Jessica’s stomach recoiled at the thought.

It had been six months without Trish. Six months of hell, of being alone in the world. Orphaned. It was hard to keep going. Hard, as ever, to keep caring. Without even Dorothy around to swat her and shame her. Only the demons in her head, Killgrave and Salinger, kept pushing her to help the city. One meth addict or car thief at a time.

There was something worse out there.

Erik Gelden was helping hunt it. He got a police stipend for being totally passive, for identifying perps without blackmailing them. In return, he got relief from the skull-crushing headaches.

He texted sometimes. Jessica didn’t answer.

Gillian came back with Indian food. Malcolm came back with a live feed to the Jamshidi apartment. The three of them ate, Gillian monitoring every bite, and Jessica sarcastically humoring her.

“We should get Erik over to do a test read. Maybe they’re just run of the mill.” Malcolm said.

“You’re not wrong,” Jessica said.

“I’ll reach out to him.”

Gillian took the trash with her when she left. Malcolm went back to his apartment.

Jessica brought a bottle of bourbon to her desk and settled in front of the computer. SHIELD scrubbed information on the Raft from the darkweb as soon as rumors were posted, but Jessica chased after them anyway. Like a dog chasing a car. Her notebook was scrawled with pages of wild theories and GPS coordinates that turned out to be whales or Russian submarines. Pages full of nothing.

Bullshit.

A tentative knock came at the door. Then a louder one. Jessica sighed. Keeping the damn door locked was a pain in the ass. She got up and called out, “Who is it?”

No answer.

She yanked the door open.

Trish stood in front of her. Trish, scrawny and pale, with short hair, wearing, Jesus, was that commando armor?

“Trish?”

“It’s me. I’m really here.”

Jessica blinked away tears. Had to be a shapeshifter. She thought through ways to test it out. “In what universe,” she asked, her throat longing for alcohol, “Would you be here?”

“It’s the end of the world. All hands on deck.” Trish brushed past her and came back into her life.

“Fuck.”

***

**Chapter Two**

“You tried to kill me,” Jessica said, closing the door and locking it.

“I’m sorry about that,” Trish said.

“Well, okay then. I forgive you.” Jessica rolled her eyes.

Trish dropped a duffel bag on the couch and then turned around, meeting Jessica’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

Jessica swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained. “This has to be a trap.”

“Remember when we were eighteen, and I was high, and you dangled me off the roof of our building?”

They’d never told anyone.

“That’s what you’re leading with?” Jessica asked, letting Trish come closer to her. Letting Trish’s body heat brush her aura like an old friend.

“I wanted an example where you didn’t save me.”

Jessica closed her eyes. After a moment, she realized Trish hadn’t moved, so Jessica stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Trish’s shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” Trish said.

Jessica shifted and pressed her mouth to Trish’s. Trish’s face was bonier, her lips thinner. And she didn’t smell like Chanel No. 5 or sandalwood or that ridiculous chemical smell her sweaters came with. But she was Trish.

Trish kissed her back, hesitant, offering without taking. Loving without needing.

The wetness on Jessica’s cheek might have been her own tears, or Trish’s. She couldn’t tell. She pulled back with a gasp, to look into Trish’s eyes, hoping to find truth there.

She didn’t. Just the same old secrets. Trish always holding back. A lifetime of being too far away.

“It’s definitely you,” Jessica said.

“Great. Can we talk about the end of the world?”

“How does it start?”

“Let’s gather your team,” Trish said.

“I just sent them out on errands. And it might take Costa a minute to get here.”

“And Erik?”

“I am not inviting Erik, even if it’s the end of the world. Trish, you look exhausted.”

“It takes a lot to get here from the Raft. Plus the briefing in Dallas.”

“Dallas?”

“I’ll explain.”

“Fine, just...sit down.” Jessica guided Trish to the bed.

Trish fell onto her back and let out a long, loud sigh.

Jessica flopped down beside her. “I’ll start sending texts.”

“Great.”

***

Gillian came back first. “I was about to catch the guy and you text me ‘911’? What the fuck?” She strode past the bedroom, and then turned and went back to it.

Trish was asleep in Jessica’s bed. “Holy shit,” Gillian said.

“Yeah,” Jessica called from the office. “Order pizza.”

“On it.” Gillian went to her desk and picked up the phone.

Jessica rubbed her face and glanced at the time on her computer. 11 PM. 2300 hours. Where the fuck was everybody?

Pizza came 20 minutes later, followed by Malcolm and Erik.

Jessica glared at Malcolm.

“We need him for the neighbors,” Malcolm said.

“Oh yeah.” That felt like a lifetime ago. She hadn’t even been watching the feed.

At 2346, Costa came in with a sleeping child. “Husband’s out of town. You better not be jerking me around, Jess.”

“I’m not the one jerking us around.”

“I am.” Trish emerged from the bedroom. Dark circles were under her eyes. Gillian offered her a Sprite.

“Thanks.”

Costa lifted his shoulders. “So is this the end of the world, or not?” He, too, accepted a Sprite.

“There’s one more person,” Trish said. “Our New York coordinator.”

A tentative knock came on the open door, and Karen Page stuck her head in. “Hey guys.”

Jessica started, then blinked. Karen looked so much like Hope.

“Come on in.” Trish waved Karen to the couch. Karen sat down gracefully.

Malcolm sat at his desk.

Erik settled next to Karen and offered his hand. “You’re full of light.”

She took his hand, but looked offended and wary.

“Don’t mind him,” Jessica said.

Karen and Costa exchanged uneasy glares.

“I talked it over with Dallas, and I thought Karen would be best, since she knows the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and Punisher. And the other boys.”

“No,” Jessica said.

“I didn’t invite them,” Trish said.

Jessica exhaled slowly. Seeing Luke—that would be another earthquake, like seeing Trish—she could only take so much in one day. And Matt—another complication.

And Danny. She didn’t like thinking about Danny. About his money or his innocence or how he hadn’t been here for Kilgrave. He didn’t understand.

She wiped her hands on her jeans. Damp.

“Okay,” Trish said, standing in the middle of the room. Commanding. “Here it is. There’s going to be an EMP released in New York City. And other cities around the world. But we’re supposed to be focused on New York.” She softened. “On our home.”

“Big deal, the power goes out,” Jessica said.

“It’s phase two that’ll do the damage. They’ll light the city on fire.”

“No sprinklers…”

“No ambulances,” Trish said. “Darkness and fire.”

Karen was writing everything down.

“So where do we start?” Malcolm asked. “Our bombmaker neighbor wasn’t making an EMP.”

“It’s something,” Jessica said. She gave Trish a wry look. “Do you have orders?”

“We need to make a list of targets. Obviously Rand Corporation, the NYSE, the bridges...God, they could blow all the bridges.” Trish said.

“And what? We take the terrorists out? Is that why you’re here?” Jessica asked, her voice rising.

“That’s why I’m here,” Trish said.

“Timeline?” Jessica asked.

“Ten days.”

Everyone was silent after that.

“Cold pizza?” Gillian asked.

They ate, and strategized weakly. Karen left to contact her people. Malcolm got everyone burner phones, then took Erik upstairs to 10C. Gillian cleaned up and went home, accepting a ride from Costa.

Jessica looked around her empty office; at her changed world. Ten days and New York would be destroyed by fire. Just like so many ancient cities before.

But Trish was here. Jessica went to the bedroom, where Trish was naked. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Jessica nodded. She got out clothes for Trish, ones that smelled slightly musty from sitting for six months in Jessica’s closet. Then she stripped herself and followed Trish into the shower.

She washed her hair, and let Trish wash the rest of her. Slow and soapy and chaste. Jessica felt something unclench in her. She searched Trish’s face, hoping Trish, too, would relax. But she hadn’t.

Trish tweaked Jessica’s nose before getting out of the shower, leaving Jessica to rinse off.

When Jessica had finished blow-drying her hair and emerged from the shower, she found her bed made with fresh sheets and Trish lying in it, in a tee shirt and shorts.

A whiskey was sitting on the nightstand.

“God, is that the Japanese shit?” Jessica asked.

“I was dying to know why you had it,” Trish said.

“Christmas party. Danny Rand was trying to be ‘helpful.’” Jessica sighed. She sat on the bed and took a long drink. The taste was too sweet, but the alcohol warmed her all over just the same. Between this and the gin and tonic, she was letting too many people be involved in her drinking.

She took another gulp, and then looked over her shoulder at Trish. “We’re all going to die.”

“Not if I can help it,” Trish said. Her tone was hard. Confident. Killer Trish, righteous savior of New York City. Fighter of evil.

Exactly what Jessica had been afraid of.

Shit.

Jessica pulled on a tee shirt and got into bed. “I’m still angry. I just want to scream at you.”

“I want to scream at you, too,” Trish said, quietly.

“Great. Let’s go to bed.”

***

**Chapter Three**

Gillian brought breakfast. Stuffed croissants with cheese and ham, champagne, and a basket of fruit.

“Jesus, Gillian, did you make these?” Jessica asked.

“Nah, place on 132nd.”

Trish ate a croissant in one bite.

Malcolm came in, took an apple, and opened his computer, not talking to anyone.

Jessica exhaled. The depression and dread of last night hadn’t lifted.

“What now?” Gillian asked. Hopeful. Ready to participate.

“I think you should chase your Grandparents scam,” Jessica said. “Trish and I will check out the high value targets. Malcolm, pursue Mohammed.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Was that a headache? Christ. She continued her speech. “This isn’t going to be easy. We’re going to have to go from the ground up. Let Danny worry about the Hand and the Tong. Luke can follow the drugs. Matt—Maybe the church is involved. Maybe this is some sort of retribution.”

“So we’re trying to figure out who has enough money to be coordinating this?” Gillian asked.

“Exactly.”

Malcolm cleared his throat. “It’s not so much about the money as the technology.”

“Well I don’t know any nuclear engineers,” Jessica said.

Malcolm set his jaw. “If they’re doing this kind of experimentation, it’s in the Middle East somewhere. Even if it’s funded by China, they won’t want the tests on their grounds. So the Middle East or… Polynesia?”

Gillian said, “Oh yes, send me there. I will investigate.”

Jessica offered her a faint smile.

Trish picked up Jessica’s wallet. “Let’s go.”

Jessica shrugged and followed her out.

In the elevator, Jessica asked, “So what happens. After.”

“I see three options. One, we save the world and I’m free. Two, we save the world and I go back to the Raft. Or three—we die together.” She looked at Jessica with anticipation.

Jessica extended her hand. Trish took it. “Together,” Jessica said.

Trish gave her a squeeze, and then let go. “I need new clothes.”

“Do we need weapons?” Jessica asked.

“Us, personally? I don’t think so. We’re...Us.”

Jessica wondered if Trish was going to say “killers.”

“So, let’s head down to Wall Street, see where the best way to blow up the Stock Exchange is. After clothes.” Jessica said. “Do you still have your bank account?”

“Dorothy made sure we were set for life. She wasn’t going to struggle, ever again.”

Jessica took a deep breath. If she stopped struggling, she would die. She hated that those were her only two options, but she understood herself.

She didn’t understand anything else. Not Trish, whose steely gaze took in the city that was their home. She didn’t understand the cops, or the criminals, or the Avengers, or religion or God, or why Dorothy had died.

Her vision throbbed purple.

Trish had walked ahead of her, and now returned to her side. “Hey. There’s a great, very expensive bar that serves Bloody Marys next to the boutique. I’ll drop you off while I shop.”

Jessica nodded. Bile threatened her throat. “I don’t want the world to end. I don’t want you to leave. Why can’t I have those things?”

Trish cupped Jessica’s cheek. “I don’t know. But I can’t have them either, unless we do this.”

“So we’ll do this.”

***

Blood poured from Erik’s nose. He held a towel against it, trying not to scream with the pain. He couldn’t move himself, but Malcolm dragged him out into the hallway, where the agony subsided.

“What the hell, man?” Malcolm said. “There’s no one in there.”

“There’s great...evil… in there.”

“Evil,” Malcolm said.

“It’s not the best term, but… I don’t know what to call it.”

“How can you feel this if there’s no one in there?”

“There must be someone in there.”

Malcolm shook his head. He leaned against the wall next to Erik, thinking. “I have a heat radar. Maybe it’ll work through walls. Maybe…”

“There’s definitely someone in there.”

“If they heard us, maybe they’ll come out on their own. Confront us.”

“Unless they’re too dedicated to their mission.”

Malcolm squeezed Erik’s shoulder, then went down to his apartment to retrieve his equipment. While there, he checked the feeds. Nothing.

He came back up, where Erik had gathered himself, and now was looking trepidatiously at the open apartment door.

Malcolm turned on his heat gun. “Let’s do this.”

Erik nodded.

Malcolm scanned the walls of the room. Everything was cool and peaceful. He tried the floors. He found a cache of cash and knives, but no people. Exasperated, he aimed his radar at the ceiling.

His screen lit up orange.

He gestured to Erik, who crept in, and pointed to the ceiling.

Erik squinted. Then he nodded.

One man, above them, where the heating equipment was, working steadily at something.

Erik and Malcolm went back into the hall.

“Oscar said the power hasn’t spiked,” Malcolm said. “How can that be?”

“Maybe they’ve got a separate bill. Or are burdening another apartment. The one above them?”

Malcolm said, “I’ll get blueprints from Oscar. We need to see how we can start tracking these guys. Not with your bloodhound nose, preferably.”

Erik nodded. “Go see Oscar. I’ll be in the office. I think Gillian brought champagne?”

***

Jessica stood in the lobby of the NYSE, not caring if anyone saw her, or heard her. Trish had traded commando clothes for 5th Avenue, and drew no attention. Even though she was typing furiously on a cellphone.

“So we just...observe and report.” Jessica said.

“There’s a hundred superheroes working on this,” Trish said. “We’re a part of something bigger.”

Jessica snorted.

“They have a big computer where all of this goes, and they’ll find a pattern. A trail. Something. We can’t save New York on our own, Jessica.”

Jessica thought of Midland Circle. “I’m glad you finally figured that out,” she drawled.

“Yeah. I figured out that killing one serial killer doesn’t do shit,” Trish said. “What a great lesson.”

“What’s next?”

“Battery Park.”

“Battery Park? You think they’re going to blow up a bunch of seagulls?” Jessica asked.

“That’s where the Museum of Jewish Heritage is.”

“God. World-destoyers and racists?”

“Isn’t that usually the way?” Trish asked. “Then we’ll hit up Ground Zero, then drinks at the Four Seasons.”

“I should have worn a track suit if I was going to be a tourist,” Jessica said.

Trish smirked.

“Hey. I wouldn’t look that bad.”

Trish doubled over laughing.

A security guard started toward them from the elevators.

“Whoops, time to go,” Jessica said.

They scooted out. Trish was still laughing.

“Come on, Trish,” Jessica said.

“No, it’s not that. It’s… your criminal record. And my criminal record.”

“Fine. We’re very bad choices to save the world. That’s how fucking bad it is. Let’s go plane-watching on the shore of the Hudson.”

Trish pulled up the address on her phone. “This way.”

Jessica followed. “We definitely look like tourists now.”

**Chapter Four**

Eight days until the end of the world.

“Sometimes it’s fine. But sometimes… Jessica pretty much hates me,” Trish said, as she sat on the green room couch.

Karen shook her head. “She doesn’t.” But she’d spoken reflexively, and studied Trish.

Trish met her gaze, even and cool.

“Every time she looked at you the other night, she seemed like someone had shot her puppy. She was...distressed.”

“We fought, before I left. She was going to take me out, send me to the Raft, and I… wasn’t going to let her.”

“How do you feel now?” Karen asked.

“I feel like this mission is a distraction, and if I were on my own… I don’t know if I could control myself,” Trish said.

“Are you okay with being used as a weapon?”

“Yes. That’s what I am, isn’t it?”

Karen bit her lip, but was silent.

The production assistant came. “Trish, you’re on in three. Time to hit the set.”

Trish got up. “I’m ready.”

She walked onto her old set. The production had been thrilled to get her call. They had 2000 grills that weren’t going to sell in September, not unless she worked her magic. Trish Walker, the 20 Percent, they called her. People would buy anything from their idols.

Karen crept to the edge of the set. She filmed Trish with her cell phone. Just in case.

“3...2...1. We’re live.”

“I’m Trish Walker, back for an Indian Summer fire sale. Get these Weber charcoal grills, and set fire to New York City.” Trish grinned straight into the camera.

***

There had been no talk of Trish getting her own place. Not with Erik now temporarily living with his sister and Malcolm. Alias Investigations was the headquarters for their operations. Better than the penthouse at Rand. Matt had come and briefed them on the Catholic conspiracy. The church was too wrapped up in their own sins, and paying for them, and their vision of making the Vatican archives more public, to have the resources to cleanse the world of guilt and shame. So he was going deeper into the night. On the hunt.

Jessica and Trish were alone, sitting on opposite sides of the bed, staring at opposite walls.

“You’re still mad at me,” Trish said.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Look, if I kill someone, it will be to save the fucking world.”

“That’s what you always say,” Jessica growled. Then she turned around, looking at Trish’s back. And then reaching out and touching Trish’s shoulder. “That’s not why I’m mad. I’m mad at the new, not the old. The same old.”

Trish turned around. “Jess—“

“You put yourself out there as bait. Without consulting me!”

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“I just got you back. Can’t I just have one day before...When you’re not in danger. From yourself. From my fucking mother. From me.”

“Jess,” Trish said, quieter this time.

“I just want to go back to…” Jessica trailed off.

“To where?” Trish prompted.

“To nowhere I’ve ever been. Somewhere I’m happy. And you’re happy. And we’re happy.”

“Maybe when this is all over—“

“It will never be all over,” Jessica said.

Their eyes met. Trish nodded. “I know.” She scooted closer to Jessica. “We have seven days left.”

Jessica took Trish’s face in her hands, leaned in, and kissed her, hard and angry. She pulled at Trish’s bottom lip, dug her thumbs into Trish’s jaw. Trish kissed her back, and when her tongue brushed Jessica’s mouth, coaxing, Jessica softened. She sat up straighter.

“Our parents are dead,” Trish said. “The world belongs to us now.”

Jessica stood up, next to the bed. She pulled off her shirt, revealing her breasts, her stomach. Kilgrave had never scarred her. Never marked her. So she could let Trish’s gaze travel over her body and let herself feel wanted. Admired.

Erik’s gaze, even Oscar’s artist’s gaze, weren’t quite the same. To them, she was a beautiful woman. She wasn’t too stupid to know that. But to Trish, she was everything.

She pushed down her jeans, her underwear sliding down with them. She tried to remember the first time she’d ever stood in front of Trish naked. Had she been seventeen? She remembered the last time before Killgrave, when Jessica had decided to be a superhero, and had left, and Trish had felt mortal and abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Trish said.

Trish got up and shed her clothes.

Jessica gave her the same look-over, taking in Trish’s curves and lines and bones. She’d never been with another woman besides Trish. Jessica didn’t know what was special and what was ordinary; How to separate Trish from womanhood.

“What?” Trish asked, at her curious gaze.

“Have you been with other women?”

Trish hesitated. “Yes.”

Jessica nodded. She walked around the bed, closing in on Trish.

“You?” Trish asked.

“No.” Jessica slouched her arms over Trish’s shoulders. “I’d only be comparing.”

“I feel pretty confident with that.” Trish smirked.

Jessica smiled. Trish grinned back. They faced each other, kneeling on the bed.

“I...nevermind,” Trish said. She tucked her face into Jessica’s neck, and exhaled, and nosed.

“What?” Jessica said.

“I love your smile,” Trish said, not looking up.

Jessica threaded fingers through Trish’s thin hair. “Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t let him ruin everything,” Jessica said. She used her grip to bring Trish’s face closer to her lips, and kissed her.

Trish returned the kiss, tugging at her upper lip, tickling and teasing until Jessica laughed, and then laughing with her. She deepened the kiss, until Jessica’s breathing through her nostrils was loud and short and Jessica’s tongue, super-powered, was dueling with her own.

Jessica guided Trish onto her back, and settled on top of her, one thigh between Trish’s legs, propped up on her elbows so that she was squishing Trish, and nipping at her chin.

“I’m just as strong as you are,” Trish said, holding onto Jessica’s hips.

“Always were.”

***

Costa led a team in a raid on 10C. The cops wore body cams. Karen stayed outside the building with a TV crew she’d called in personally. Everything was public.

Luke Cage was there, bulletproof, making sure SWAT didn’t fire, even with their cameras and shields and bobby sticks. They needed Erik’s evil man alive.

It wasn’t broadcast until the tape had been edited, but in five hours, it had gone viral. “Islamic State Bomber Captured in the Heart of New York City.”

Karen snagged an on-the-street-interview with Luke Cage. “This is Jessica Jones’ building, Mr. Cage. Do you think she had anything to do with this?”

Luke looked directly into the camera and grinned. “She is the fire.”

***

**Chapter Five**

Six days until the end of the world.

“Someone is going to get hurt,” Jessica said.

“The building’s completely abandoned. There’s no one here but powered people. We sent home maintenance, security, the cleaning people…” Trish looked around at the sound stage. Every light in the studio was on.

“I just have a bad feeling.”

Trish huffed. She sat on the edge of the stage, resting her arms on her knees.

Jessica paced. “Maybe they didn’t get the message.”

“We arrested their New York bomb maker.”

“They could have more.”

“These kinds of bombs are not from the Anarchist’s Cookbook, Jess.”

“So we really did capture a nuclear engineer?”

“Well, Oscar did.”

Jessica scoffed, but she came to stand beside Trish. “Two girls against the world.”

“My mother preferred I just make money,” Trish said.

“My mom knew I was going to be a fuck-up.”

Trish reached up for Jessica’s hand. “Cheers.”

An explosion sounded dully under their feet. “Here they come,” Jessica said. “If they were smart they’d just shoot us.”

“Then they wouldn’t know who our source was. We’re little people.”

“Are we going to give up Oscar?”

“Maintenance men are invisible, you know.”

Jessica thought of Oscar and his son, of their love and warmth, their acceptance, always there for her. She was doing this for them. Saving the world for them.

Heavy boots on the staircase.

“Trish, why do you care so much about helping people?”

“I don’t want anyone to have to grow up like I did,” Trish said.

Jessica nodded.

Four men came through the studio doors. They all held AR-15s, and all looked confused to see the two women on stage.

“Hi,” Jessica said.

Trish lifted her hand in greeting.

“Is someone in charge?” Jessica asked.

The men looked at each other.

Jessica whispered to Trish. “No one brought a torture kit.”

“Must be bigger fish to fry.”

A man stepped forward. “Who told you about the fire, Trish Walker?”

“Sure, I’m mud,” Jessica grumbled.

“Captain America,” Trish said cheerfully.

Danny Rand, Iron Fist, and Daredevil, much stealthier than their adversaries, creeped up behind the men and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Drop your weapons,” Daredevil said.

The men turned at once, and Daredevil and Iron Fist knocked them to the ground. Then zip-tied them.

Iron Fist winked at Trish and Jessica. “Two damsels in distress?”

Trish blew on her fingernails.

Jessica walked over to the men and nudged one with her toe. “Is Costa on his way?”

“Yes. He’s going to escort them to an Avengers plane.”

Danny wore a mask over the top half of his face. It looked ridiculous. Jessica flicked him off. Danny looked hurt.

Iron Fist lifted a man to his feet. “Did you guys really catch the bomber?”

“It was a coincidence.”

Trish got out her phone as her text sound chimed. “It’s Karen.”

Four people looked expectant. Four people looked miserable.

“She says their New York target was the power station in Astoria.”

The four prisoners slumped even more.

Jessica’s phone chimed. “It’s Gillian. She says she’s taking us out to dinner. She and Erik found five men in Inwood and $10,000. Cash.”

“Sweet,” Danny said.

Cops arrived. Iron Fist cooled her hands.

Daredevil skittered off. “Text me the address.”

Danny took off his mask and shook out his hair. “Do you think we could convince her to eat in Chinatown?”

“Danny, you can’t have dim sum every day,” Iron Fist said.

“She texted Trinity Place,” Jessica said. It’s a long walk to Wall Street.”

“Let’s go.”

***

After dinner, Jessica and Trish stood in Battery Park, gazing at the Statue of Liberty. Their phones had chirped all night with breaking news. Arrests in Dallas, LA, Cincinnati, and abroad. Jessica ignored video alerts for Avengers swooping into London.

Trish ignored pleas for interviews. But she passed her phone to Jessica. There was a text from an Unknown Number.

“We’re all good here. Be safe.”

Jessica exhaled, and the weight of the world fell from her shoulders. “So you’re not going back to the Raft.”

“No.”

“And you’ve become a team player.” Jessica pressed her luck.

“And you?”

“Dinner made it seem that way.”

Trish smiled and tucked her phone into her coat. “I’m home. We’re home.”

Jessica took Trish’s arm and rested her head against it. “Fresh slate?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m going to smile more, and you’re going to work with Erik and Malcolm to fight crime the right way.”

“It’s a nice idea,” Trish said.

Jessica smiled. It didn’t hurt.

“Let’s get a dog,” Trish said.

“We are not getting a dog.”

“It could sleep in the bed with us.”

“No.”

Trish laughed, and took Jessica’s hand, and they began the long walk to Midtown. Together.


End file.
